Total pages in book: 80
Estimated words: 80102 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 401(@200wpm)___ 320(@250wpm)___ 267(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 80102 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 401(@200wpm)___ 320(@250wpm)___ 267(@300wpm)
“Oh, thank fuck.”
“Nice, little brother.”
I laugh. “No, you know I’d do it for you in a heartbeat, but I have enough on my plate already, and—”
“I get it. And I did think of that when I made my decision. Christie thought you might be upset I didn’t ask you.”
“Nah, it’s better this way. Best man should be a best friend’s job.”
“Awesome. It will also free up some time for you to get on that dating app. Maybe find a date for the wedding.”
Ugh. Right. That.
Weeding out the creepers is harder than I originally thought. There are the quick dismisses—the dick pics, offers to drive a hundred miles for a fuck, and any mentions of pussy-boy mouths. And then there are the ones who start out nice enough and say, “Hey,” and make small talk, and then suddenly it’s all, “I’m waiting for your big fat cock right now,” and “Can I come over?” and I realize I’ve wasted fifteen minutes of my life. It’s not much time in the big scheme of things, but when it happens countless times, it adds up fast.
This is what I wanted … apparently.
It would be easy to take any of their offers, but something about it doesn’t feel right, and I can’t pinpoint why. I’m not excited about finding a guy this way, so it’s hard to really want it.
I do find one guy who’s nice to talk to. We haven’t gotten into anything deep, but for six days, we message back and forth, and it seems like we’re on the same page.
So when he asks me out to dinner on Saturday night, I’m vague about having a busy schedule and ask to meet on Sunday instead. He agrees, and then I sweat bullets until the date.
I can do this. It’s a casual dinner. It doesn’t have to lead to anything, but I’m prepared if it does. At the door of the restaurant, I almost chicken out, but thankfully the weather gods give me the push I need to get inside and out of the cold.
The lighting is low, and the romantic setting is a good first-date choice. My gaze sweeps over the restaurant as I take my coat off, trying to spot my date. I scan tables filled with couples and some families, and then my gaze lands on someone familiar. Someone I really don’t want to see.
Rainn lifts his head, and instinctually, I dive to the floor because that’s totally a normal and natural response.
The host rounds his station and stares down at me. “You okay down there?”
“Totally.” My voice squeaks. “Uh, I’m here for, umm, a table for Kurt?”
“Ah. Blind date? Got one look at him and you’re chickening out? Want me to tell Kurt you called the restaurant and couldn’t make it?”
Is it weird that I’m strangely touched he’s willing to do that? And people say chivalry is dead.
“No, it’s not him I’m hiding from. It’s someone else.”
“Ooh, who?”
“Guy at the middle table along the wall. He’s with a blonde woman.”
Rainn must be on a date.
Damn, it sucks how I can’t get the idea that he’s gay out of my head just because he works at Vino and Veritas. Seeing him on a date with a woman is a slap of reality.
Why does he have to be so hot?
“You’re seated on the other side of the restaurant if that helps,” the host says.
“It does. Thank you. Is it safe to stand up?”
He checks for me. “Yup. I’ll cover you. Stay on my left as I lead you to the table.”
I smile up at him. “You’re getting a big tip.”
“Right this way.”
The guy is shorter than me, so when I jump up, I crouch beside him and follow him toward my date.
Kurt sits facing us, so he watches as we approach.
I’m expecting a warm welcome, but he frowns, and then I realize I’m still hunched over.
I stand upright. “I walk normally, I promise.”
The host laughs as he walks away.
“Okaaay,” Kurt says.
“Moving on. Hi.” I take my seat opposite him. “Nice to meet you.”
“You too.”
Kurt’s relatively attractive, if a little … average-looking. His head is kinda small, his spiky hair twice as tall as his forehead. It’s a lot more prominent in person than in the photos he sent.
I shake that thought free and reach for the water on the table. He was the nicest one on the damn app, I remind myself.
“Are you going to explain why you took a dive and then Quasimodo’d your way over here?”
I almost choke and then play dumb. “You saw that?”
“Am I not what you were expecting, or …”
“No,” I say quickly. “It’s nothing to do with you.”
“I know you’re out of my league, but—”
I reach for his hand on top of the table, a reflexive move that doesn’t quite register until I’m doing it.
Holding hands. I’ll check that off my to-do list.